Off Kilter, part 2
by yankee306
Summary: **Sorry, folks, the muse just curled up and died on this one. I can't promise I'll ever finish it.** Mary decides to remain at WITSEC, but that doesn't mean everything stays the same between her and Marshall.
1. Ch 7: Exit Strategy

_**off kilter,**__** chapter 7: exit strategy**__** (beginning of part 2)**_

**Author:** yankee306  
**Pairings: **Mary and Marshall, bien sûr  
**Spoilers: **Very general season 1

**Summary for part 2: **Mary decides to remain at WITSEC, but that doesn't mean everything stays the same between her and Marshall.

**Summary for chapter 7:** Shelly tells Mary she can help her find a way out of her trap.

_**A/N:**_ Picks up where part 1 left off. Thanks to snerkyone for the beta! This story is going very slowly, so if you hate waiting a long time between chapters, you may want to hold off until I've got a few more ready.

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_**In our last chapter . . .**__  
_  
_She didn't have to choose between two of the things she loved the most. Mary's shoulders relaxed and a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. _Sleep well, Marshall. I'll see you tomorrow.

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**Chapter 7: Exit Strategy  
**

Sometimes just knowing that there's a way out of a trap helps lessen the distress of being caught. As the panic ebbs and the mind quiets, the escape route becomes easier to find.

Mary had been thrashing around inside a trap that seemed to have no escape route, at least not one that would leave her without deep scars. But now that she saw that there might be a way she could remain partners with Marshall without endangering his life—more than the danger inherent in their jobs—Mary felt calmer and a little less fearful. Hope was not quite such a stranger as it had been.

Not that she was sanguine. Mary would still have laid odds that what might look like a light at the end of the tunnel was probably an oncoming train, but she was ready to accept that the chances of disaster might be less than 80/20. Some days, 70/30 was starting to seem within reach.

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"Have you called Shelly yet?" Marshall asked Mary one morning when they were sitting at their desks, each engaged in various administrative tasks for their witnesses.

It had been a week since Mary had agreed—well, agreed to consider—calling a psychologist to address what Marshall believed were her PTSD symptoms.

While she didn't relish revealing herself to anyone, Mary actually liked Shelly. She was smart and no nonsense and sometimes insightful. Even so, before Marshall raised the idea, it hadn't occurred to Mary to talk to Shelly about her increasing anxiety about Marshall's safety. Asking for help wasn't the sort of thing that ever occurred to Mary.

"No, but I will. Stop nagging." Mary turned back to the report on her desk and tuned Marshall out.

Marshall didn't say anything, just picked up the phone to make a call. "Hi, it's Marshall Mann. I'm fine, thank you. How are you? Do you have a few minutes? Mary wants to talk to you." Marshall put the phone on hold and then said to Mary, "Line 1's for you."

"Who is it?" she asked.

Marshall just shrugged.

Mary picked up the receiver. "This is Mary." A pause. "Oh, Shelly, hi." She glared at Marshall, who smiled and went back to his paperwork.

"Yeah, it has been a while. Well, I, uh, wanted to see if we could talk. No, in person. Tomorrow? I guess so. OK, ten o'clock at your office." Mary hung up and again glared at Marshall. "How does she have time to meet so quickly? Probably a lousy shrink and no one else is stupid enough to see her. I don't need you to be my personal secretary, you know." Marshall snorted at that. "But . . . thanks."

....................................................

Shelly welcome Mary into her office the next morning. "Hi, Mary. Come in and have a seat. What do you want to talk about?"

"Skip the pleasantries and dive right in, huh? OK, I can work with that. A few weeks ago, Marshall and I got into it with some fugitives. Not anywhere near the worst we've faced, but dangerous enough. I'm usually good at times like that. I can shut out everything that's not critical to the situation and see the whole picture, how different options could play out, like looking for a pass on a basketball court."

"But?" prompted Shelly.

"But I just . . . . couldn't do it that day. I kept seeing him . . . seeing Marshall . . . dead on the ground, lying in a pool of blood." Mary paused as the gruesome scene played itself out in her mind yet again. "I got so scared that I couldn't think straight."

"You both made it out without injuries?" Shelley asked.

"Pretty much. Marshall's calf was grazed by a bullet and he sprained his wrist wrestling one of the fugitives down. We had help from another team of marshals who came in behind us. Any other time, I would have told you that Marshall and I didn't need any help. That time, I'm not sure we didn't."

"Did you make any mistakes?"

"I lost track of the bullet count on both sides; couldn't even keep track of my own. Other than that, I don't think so, but I know I wasn't thinking rationally. I'm afraid that losing my concentration because I'm afraid for Marshall is going to end up getting him, or a witness, killed."

"In other words," Shelly said, "the thing you fear is fear itself."

"You got it, Franklin. Marshall thinks it's some form of PTSD from when he got shot. Is that it?"

"I don't know that it matters whether or not it's PTSD in a clinical sense."

"Right," said Mary ruefully. "Whatever you call it, it goes back to the fear of being abandoned by my father, just like every other damn thing seems to, right?"

Shelly shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. No matter what we're dealing with, it's not going to be helpful to start with a conclusion already in mind. Besides, we don't necessarily have to delve into the past looking for causes. We only need to deal with your symptoms."

Mary was surprised. "Really? I thought shrinks always went right for early childhood, like moths to the repressed memory of a flame."

"Not always."

"Still, can't you just picture all these tiny little shrinks flying right into a bonfire? That'd be cool."

Shelly smiled and went on. "In a case like this, we don't have to understand the cause in order to isolate a specific problem and devise a real-world solution for it."

Mary looked quizzical. Shelly continued, "Think of someone who's deathly afraid to drive over a high bridge. Examining everything from infancy forward might yield some insights, but the patient might benefit just as much by learning deep breathing techniques to keep them from panicking while driving over the bridge. Even if they never know how they came to be so afraid, they've already made it across the bridge."

"Huh."

"My goal is to get _you_ to the other side of the bridge. In your case, that means preventing your irrationally large fear for Marshall from crippling your judgment in a dangerous situation. Our goal is to remove that limitation, no matter what's at the root."

"No dredging up every last thing my parents ever said? OK, sounds good. So, how do we fix me?" Mary looked expectantly at Shelly, who gave a little laugh.

"It's different for different people. We'll figure out what will work for you. For now, just tell me what happened that day."

Mary launched into a detailed narrative of the day, beginning with the tip that led them to the suspects' location, their narrow escape, the car chase, the gun fight, and the capture. Along the way, she identified points where her fears for Marshall had threatened to overwhelm her training and instincts.

Shelly listened with a minimum of interruptions or questions, then said, "Good. That's enough for today. Let's set up a regular schedule for the next several weeks. Monday, Wednesday, Friday at this time work for you? We'll rearrange if you have to leave town."

"Screw that. I don't have time to be a professional patient," Mary protested.

"Make the time. The more often we meet, the more quickly you'll conquer this."

Mary wasn't thrilled, but she _really_ wanted the carrot that Shelly was dangling. "Oh, all right."

....................................................

"How was it?" Marshall asked when Mary returned to the office after her session with Shelly.

"Surprisingly ok, actually."

"Let me guess: She's taking a cognitive behavioral approach?"

"How the hell would I know?" Mary snapped, with her _I-can't-believe-you're-asking-me-this_ face.

"Unlike what you probably think of as generic 'therapy,' with its focus on digging into the emotional and psychological roots of dysfunction on the premise that understanding is required for, perhaps even tantamount to, change, cognitive behavioral therapy seeks to develop specific strategies to transform dysfunctional behaviors, thoughts, or emotions, regardless of their origin."

"Yeah, that's more or less what she said, though she managed not to sound like a walking textbook, dorkus."

Marshall looked pleased that he had accurately predicted Shelly's approach. More than anything, he was glad that Mary was accepting help.

5


	2. Ch 8: Other Things

_**off kilter,**__** chapter 8: other things**_

**Author:** yankee306  
**Pairings: **Mary and Marshall, bien sûr  
**Spoilers: **Very general season 1

**Summary:** Mary begins to deal with other pieces of her conversation with Marshall in the bar.

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_**In our last chapter . . .**__  
_  
_Ma__rshall looked__ pleased that he had accurately predicted Shelly's approach. More than anything, he was glad that Mary was accepting help._

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**Chapter 8: Other Things  
**

In the office a few days later, Mary suddenly asked, "What are the 'other things'?"

Marshall was at a loss. "Can I get a little context here? Or are you calling upon my world renowned divination skills?"

"You know, that night in the bar, you said you take lessons or go to lectures or do 'other things,'" Mary reminded him. "What are the 'other things'?"

"Shall I have my secretary prepare you a list of my engagements?"

"Depends. Are we talking secret job interview other things or too-embarrassing-even-for-Marshall other things? I'm trying to imagine something even dorkier than the things you admit to doing, but I'm coming up empty. Ooh, or maybe hot date other things? Have you been holding out on me? You're dating Stan behind my back, aren't you?"

"You wormed it out of me. Yes, Mare, Stan and I are on the down low, eagerly awaiting the legalization of gay marriage in New Mexico to give us the courage to announce our love to the world."

"I'm not getting you a wedding present, you know." Mary turned back to her desk, finished with the conversation.

"I know," said Marshall, a little disappointed that she hadn't pressed him until he admitted that "other things" did in fact sometimes include dates. _Give it up, idiot. She's not the jealous type. Why would she be jealous anyway? You're always here for her._

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Other scraps of conversation from that evening in the bar kept coming back to Mary. One nagged her insistently:

"You never ask me how I am or what I've been doing."

Mary was mortified by this. How had she not recognized in herself the very kind of self-centeredness she so disdained in Jinx and Brandi? What kind of friend was she that she knew so little—apparently _cared _so little—about Marshall's life when he wasn't with her (or doing something for her)? Hell, she didn't even know that much about his work day when he wasn't helping her with one of her witnesses.

Even today, while she'd had some idle curiosity about those mysterious "other things" of Marshall's, she was mostly just looking for an opportunity to tease him. Having found it, she'd had her fill of the conversation and hadn't even tried to get a real answer out of Marshall.

_I'm half paralyzed with worry that he'll die, but I don't think very much about how he lives. _

Mary's reverie was interrupted by its subject, who was just hanging up the phone. "Hey Mare, that was Casper Rollins, my computer hacker witness. He's having some difficulty at work, so I'm going to go see what I can do. I'll be gone for a couple of hours."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Mary asked. It wasn't much, but at least she could keep Marshall company and see him interact with his witness.

Marshall was surprised. Mary rarely came with him to visit his witnesses unless something major was going down or there was something in it for her. He couldn't figure out what her angle could be in this case.

"I can handle it on my own if you've got other things to do."

"Nothing that can't wait. Let's go."

One small step for anyone else, a giant leap for Mary.


	3. Ch 9: Brave New Worlds

_**A/N: **__I am seriously talking through my hat on the cognitive behavior stuff. What I've used in here is a dash of what I know of CBT, a dram of what I've read about certain PTSD treatment techniques, a dollop of common sense, and a whole lotta whatever worked for the story. So don't rush out and set up your own practice based on this, 'kay?_

_*Enormous* thanks to greenstuff for her extensive betaing._

_................................................................................................................................_

_**In our last chapter . . .**_

_"Do you want me to come with you?" Mary asked. It wasn't much, but at least she could keep Marshall company and see him interact with his witness._

_One small step for anyone else, a giant leap for Mary. _

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Mary was living in at least four worlds, twice her usual count. There was, as always, her work world, where she was capable and valued and (most of) the conflict she created was productive. There was her family world, where she was, more than ever it seemed, a disappointment and an unreasonable bitch—except when there were bills to be paid or advice to be given or favors to be granted (or sex to be had). Now, there was also her therapy world with Shelly, where she was a reluctant student. And then there was her getting-to-know-Marshall world, where she was just getting her bearings.

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Each time she came to Shelly's office, Mary sat on the vintage maroon velvet couch across from Shelly's black leather chair. On the small table between them sat a box of tissues, a small clock that faced Shelly, and a pitcher of water and several glasses.

True to her word, Shelly didn't ask Mary to talk about her father or her childhood. Instead, over the course of several sessions, she had Mary walk her through the Reed Wilson incident repeatedly, backwards and forwards, bringing Mary's every memory of that day to the forefront.

The first time through Mary's story, Shelly just listened. The second time, she asked occasional questions to make the scenario clearer in her own mind. When Shelly asked for the story at the third session in a row, Mary's patience was wearing thin.

Stifling the urge to yell, she settled for narrowing her eyes at Shelly and shouting inside her own head. _**Again**__ for chrissake?! I could be using this time to, I don't know, __**do my freaking job!**_

"I know this may not make sense to you yet, but just stay with me. I promise I have a good reason."

Shelly saw Mary hesitate and added, "I'm very good at my job, Mary."

"Oh, all right." Mary began to tell the story again.

This time Shelly interrupted her constantly, asking, "Why did you decide to do that?" or "What were you thinking right then?" or "What was Marshall doing at that moment?" If Mary didn't answer immediately, without pausing to think about it, Shelly would have Mary back up and go over a piece of it again, then leap ahead to a different part of the story.

At the end of that session, Mary felt drained. How could just talking about something leave her exhausted? This whole process was starting to feel surreal.

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The next time they met, Shelly told Mary they would do some "exercises."

"'Exercises?' O.K., that's an obvious euphemism for either some moonbeam meditation crap or some kind of Orwellian mind fuck. I've read _1984,_ you know. I can spot these things a mile away."

Shelly recognized this bluster as anxiety. "Nothing so dramatic," said Shelly. "I'm just going to ask you to look at what happened from different perspectives and to consider different outcomes."

"In other words, you're going to make me tell the damn story _again._" Mary gave an exasperated sigh.

"If it could help keep you and Marshall together, are you willing to try it?"

Mary sat up straighter and nodded, ready to cut the crap. "Yes."

"Good. Tell me what happened."

Shelly shifted to the hypothetical and asked Mary to consider a string of "if, then" questions. As she played out different scenarios, things were starting to become a little clearer to Mary. She understood that Shelly was trying to prove—in fact _was_ proving—Mary had been prepared that day to adapt to whatever the circumstances required.

_If _the fugitives had heard Marshall approaching before he could get behind a rock outcropping as planned, _then_ Mary would have been able to cover him from her position. _If _the three fugitives had been smarter and tried to flank Mary and Marshall instead of helpfully clumping together, _then _Marshall would have dropped back so that either he of Mary would have had two of the three fugitives in their line of sight. Even though part of Mary's mind had been occupied with her fear, she and Marshall could have handled any number of "ifs."

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Shelly's next step for Mary was for her to try to relive the day through others' perspectives. She asked Mary to imagine how each of the three fugitives had experienced the day. As she did so, Mary recognized that they surely had seen her as decisive and formidable. She had shown no signs of anxiety or hesitation they might have been able to use against her.

At Mary's eighth session, it was Marshall's turn. Shelly told Mary to go through the entire day yet again, this time imagining how Marshall had seen things.

"This may take us more than the usual 50 minutes. Can you stay longer?"

Mary nodded.

"I want you to consider not just Marshall's state of mind, but his actual physical perspective. Move your point of view—the movie camera if that analogy makes sense to you—so that you're not seeing Marshall anymore. You're seeing what he's seeing: you, the fugitives, the road, the landscape. Got that image?"

"I think so."

"Good. Start at the beginning."

This run-through wasn't tedious at all. Mary found it fascinating to see as Marshall, to _be_ Marshall. She spoke in the first person, describing what he saw and did.

Shelly interrupted with the "what happened next?" questions and the hypotheticals, some of which involved Mary. "If Mary had missed that shot, what would you have done? What do you think she would have done in response?"

When it was over, Mary felt wrung dry, having been twisted and squeezed into Marshall's head in addition to all the other places Shelly had taken her over the past weeks. The sum of all those points of view was a new understanding of what had actually happened. Although it had seemed to her that the gruesome vision of Marshall's lifeless body had blinded her to everything around her, it was apparent that any interference with her job loomed much larger in her imagination than in reality. She now believed she could manage her fear the next time it arose.

"Wow," said Mary, leaning back on the couch and shaking her head. "Wow."

"'Wow' means . . . "

"'Wow' means just . . . wow. This wasn't the crock of total bullshit I was expecting. I actually am seeing things differently now—literally seeing my images of that day differently, and they don't scare me nearly so much. I can separate the fear from the reality. Kudos," said Mary, turning to Shelly with a nod and a smile that was half ironic, half earnest.

Shelly smiled in return, then said, "Good. We're well over our time for today, so I'll see you on Monday."

"I'm not fixed yet? I feel fixed."

"You've done great work, Mary, really great. But we do need to spend more time to make sure you've really internalized this and to talk about how to handle things in the future."

"Well, you do seem to know what you're doing," said Mary, wryly. "So, Monday then."

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Together, Shelly and Mary had broken the incident down moment by moment, decision by decision. It was like watching a glass shatter in slow motion. Mary could see each individual shard flying away from the point of impact, tumbling into another one, clattering to the floor, and skittering across the surface. She could run the film backward in her mind and watch the strewn pieces of glass magically come back together into an unbroken whole.

She could see each step she'd taken that day and watch it separately from the noise and chaos. Scared for Marshall or not, she hadn't made any dangerous mistakes. She'd always left herself room to maneuver. Her training, her instincts, and her mutual understanding with her partner were powerful. Those things had taken over, not her fear.

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Over in Marshall world, things hadn't progressed nearly as far.

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**Thanks for the reviews & keep 'em coming. More so than with previous stories, my ideas have been changing based on questions and ideas y'all have shared, so keep talking. I can't promise you'll get all your questions answered in future chapters, but you're definitely making me think!**


	4. Ch 10: Alchemy

_**off kilter, chapter 10: alchemy**_

**Author:** yankee306  
**Pairings: **Mary and Marshall, bien sûr  
**Spoilers: **None

**Summary:** Marshall has to know if therapy's working or he needs a Plan B.

_**A/N:**_ _**I reorganized and rewrote this chapter much more than I have with other pieces, so I'm especially interested in hearing about things that didn't work for you or didn't fit.**_

Thanks to greenstuff for the 1st draft beta.

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_**In our last chapter . . . **_

_Over in Marshall World, things hadn't progressed nearly as far._

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**Chapter 10: Alchemy **

Mary had given herself a job to do, but she wasn't sure how to go about it.

**Task:** To be a better friend to Marshall.

Mary didn't kid herself. She wasn't going to understand Marshall the way he did her anytime soon, but, Jesus, she could pay some attention to him as a separate person, not just an extension of herself. Even when she wrestled with planning to leave WITSEC, she largely considered her own sorrow, not the way it would affect Marshall.

**Step One:** Here's where Mary's mind drew a blank. She wasn't used to approaching relationships cerebrally. Like most things for her, it was all gut and heart. Usually, she took what she wanted and she gave to those obviously in need: her mother and sister, her witnesses. To be clear, she didn't consider what _they _thought they needed. She gave them what they needed _according to Mary._

One of the things that made Mary very, very good at her job was her ability to read her witnesses. She got to know them well enough to decide that they needed handholding or a ride to work; a motivational speech or a night out dancing; a good, hard slap or a day of respite from caretaking. She certainly wasn't always right, but when she was, nobody was more tenacious in getting those needs met for them. When she was wrong, she was just as dogged in figuring out the right answer.

As for her family, Mary had 30 years of experience to guide her. Brandi needed, Mary believed, a combination of tough love and big sister encouragement. Jinx mostly needed a swift kick in the ass. And, Mary allowed, maybe some support now that she seemed to be serious about sobriety.

What about Raph? Mary's ruling on him was that he didn't need anything from her he wasn't getting. She was his lover and fiancée and he had as much of her attention as she could spare. But she was learning lately that Raph saw things differently. _He said_ he needed more from her, like her time and her secrets. He needed her to share decision-making with him and to compromise. _Like hell, _Mary thought, before pushing thoughts of Raph to a back corner of her mind. He wasn't the topic at hand.

That would be Marshall. Self-sufficient Marshall. Calm, content Marshall, who seemed to have what he needed to stay that way. He was _fine. _Wasn't he?

Admittedly, he could probably use more respect from her and fewer edicts and hassles. That was something she could give him. Mary resolved to be more conscious of how she treated him, especially in front of other people. She tried to stop interrupting him—as much. She listened more and tried to make her responses less snide. She was still a smartass and still teased him, because she knew they both loved that, but with less of a sting, she hoped. There were still the sarcastic asides to him, the shared jokes, usually at others' expense, the eyebrows raised for his benefit.

Were there other things he needed from her? She would find herself staring absently at him, turning the question over in her mind, until he glanced up and she quickly averted her eyes, flushing like she'd been caught ogling the cute boy in class.

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Several times lately Marshall had looked up from his desk only to see Mary looking at him with a thoughtful expression. When he caught her eye, she flinched and turned away, obviously uncomfortable.

"What?" he'd asked the third or fourth time it happened.

"Nothing. Just thinking."

"Well it's disconcerting. Could you go back to just reacting before anything has a chance to pass through your cerebral cortex?"

A brief smile and laugh was Mary's only response. Why did she let him get away with that?

The fact was that Mary had been behaving quite oddly and Marshall couldn't help but be suspicious. She had started to be . . . _polite._ Largely gone were the snapping and sneering—not that Marshall minded doing without those—but what did it mean? The (always lopsided) give and take of their work was changing. Instead of "Jesus. Stop whining and go do the damn threat assessment," it was, "Would you mind doing the threat assessment?" More consideration was welcome, but Marshall felt like Mary no longer took her partner's reliability as a given. Mary was even doing substantial amounts of her own paperwork.

She wasn't displaying the sickly sweetness she sometimes used to wheedle favors; nothing so obviously insincere. Nor was it the paper-thin veneer of pleasantness she put on for idiot judges who had power over her witnesses. Some of her interactions with Marshall had a forced quality, cheerful but at arm's length, as though they were acquaintances chatting at a cocktail party.

"Hey, how are those mambo lessons going?" Mary asked over breakfast tacos one morning.

Confused not by the question by her asking it, Marshall answered tentatively, "Um, they're going fine. Why?"

"Just wondering. What exactly is mambo, anyway? Is it the same thing as salsa?" _Soliciting_ information from his vast storehouse of knowledge that she usually considered utterly pointless? Something was seriously amiss.

"Did you just ask me to share some irrelevant drivel with you?"

"What? I can be interested in things."

This was downright weird. It felt like that night a few weeks ago when she'd been trying to steer any conversation away from the reason she was distant, the night she'd tried to avoid telling him she was going to quit WITSEC. What was she trying to distract him from this time?

Marshall answered her questions about mambo and salsa, giving only half a mind to explaining the interrelated styles of music and dance steps, with a bit on the rhumba thrown in for good measure. Meanwhile, he used the other half to reflect on Mary's unsettling behavior.

It wasn't just her polite expressions of interest that were unfamiliar. She was patient. Listening. Not interrupting him more than two or three times in a conversation. In other words, _not Mary._ Or, rather, not Mary _Shannon._ This was Mary _Shepherd,_ the Mary who rocked scared witnesses in her arms and spoke earnestly to them about building a new and better life.

Marshall considered whether he was witnessing the positive effects of Mary's therapy, but that explanation didn't really fit. It was only toward that him that she'd been acting differently. With everyone else she was as bossy and uncooperative as ever. With Marshall, she was gentle, _protective. _The whole point of the therapy was for Mary to feel _less_ protective of him, less like he needed special handling. Yet here she was, doing just that.

No, the more plausible explanation was that Mary had concluded she couldn't stay at WitSec with him.

The kid glove treatment must be her way of slowly disengaging from him, easing away from the intimacy that, for better or worse, had always allowed her to say any damn thing she wanted to him. Apparently, she wasn't planning to storm off, just to fade away.

Marshall's thinking careened between the two theories. When he contemplated the latter, panic crept in.

Oh god, what was he going to do? _It's not the end of the world, _he kept reminding himself. Even if she quit, she wasn't going to disappear. They'd have new partners, but he and Mary would still each other's best friend.

The problem was that Marshall just didn't want any partner other than Mary. The trust they'd built went beyond any he'd had. Sure, he could eventually learn to trust a new partner, but it was a lot of damn work and it would never be this strong. His romantic feelings for her aside, there simply wasn't anyone he'd rather work with, be in the office with, go on long road trips with, watch crappy hotel room TV with. Imagining long workdays without their teasing and kibbitzing was just grim.

So Marshall scrutinized Mary as closely as he dared. If therapy with Shelly wasn't going to work, he needed to come up with Plan B.

....................................................

Mary continued to pay more attention to Marshall, the man, rather than solely Marshall, Mary's partner and confidante, rabbi, straight man, and errand boy.

It wasn't as though she wasn't well aware of his good qualities, much as she tended to take them for granted.

He was whip smart, of course. He didn't suffer fools any more gladly than she did, but he rarely felt the need to demonstrate that fact with yelling or swearing. When he did, _look out._

Brave, tough, loyal. Nobody better to have on your side in any kind of fight. Tall, strong, as badass as they came. Traits that had their uses outside of work, it occurred to her. What kind of badass was he in . . . other situations? _Whoa. Where the hell did that come from? Focus, Mary._

Despite, or maybe because of, his general dorkiness, he was quite charming, really—if you could get past the trivia about railroad spikes and the orations on German expressionism. Hell, some people probably even liked that stuff. She had seen that firsthand with Dana and Shelly. He and Bobby seemed to converse easily. Truth be told, Mary sort of liked it, too. Not all the time; it could be annoying and distracting and sometimes boring, to be honest. But she liked that he knew so many things and had a lively and engaged mind.

He was kind and patient. He cared about his witnesses as well as hers and anyone else in pain. He cared about her. (There was a thought. Marshall liked to take care of people. How much of his relationship with her was motivated by that? Mary put that aside for further contemplation.)

As Mary ran through the list of Marshall's strengths, she remembered what she'd said to him:

_Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you're actually a nice person, aren't you? Why am I even friends with you?" _

The real question, it turned out, was why _he _was friends with _her_.

....................................................

Three weeks of meeting with Shelly, and Mary still hadn't said one word to Marshall about any of it. Marshall desperately wanted to ask Mary how it was going, but he held his tongue. He knew he had to give her time—Mary always needed time to let things settle before she wanted to talk about them—but how much?

His optimistic streak focused on the fact that she was going to therapy at all. Presumably, if the therapy was going nowhere, Mary wouldn't keep going back. She didn't have that kind of patience. In fact he was amazed that she'd stuck it out this long.

_For them. _

_For him._

His realist self poured gallons of ice cold water on that hope. Given Mary's recent behavior, it was more likely that she was just trying to figure out how to make her exit. Mary's deafening silence on the subject only served to reinforce Marshall's worst-case scenario.

He considered "accidentally" running into Shelly, but dismissed that as too adolescent, not to mention completely transparent.

So one afternoon when Mary was out helping a witness get a new driver's license, Marshall made the 15-minute walk to the federal courthouse that housed the rest of the U.S. Marshals Service and Shelly's small office, tucked away on the fourth floor.

Marshall knocked on Shelly's open office door. "Hey, Shelly. Got a minute?"

Looking up from the case notes she was writing, Shelly said, "Hi, Marshall. Come sit down." She gestured toward the deep red couch and Marshall sat in Mary's usual spot.

"Shall I guess why you're here?"

Marshall gave her a bashful smile but didn't say anything.

Shelly knew exactly what was on his mind. "You know I can't tell you anything about Mary's sessions with me."

"Yeah, I do know and it's stupid for me to even be here. It's just . . ."

"Just . . .?" prompted Shelly.

"Mary's been different with me lately, really not herself. I can't figure out what it means, and I don't want to be caught off guard if she decides therapy isn't working and quitting is her only option." Marshall was fidgety, lacing and unlacing his fingers.

"Marshall, you know I can't tell you anything specific." Shelly hesitated. "But since you know why Mary initially came to see me, I will tell you this much: I'm asking her to do a lot of hard work, as I would with anyone who faced the same issues. It wouldn't be surprising if anyone in Mary's position were different from her usual self. All it means for sure is that there's a lot going on internally."

Marshall tried to read Shelly's expression to see if she was telegraphing any further information, even though he knew she took her professional responsibilities too seriously for that.

Still a little embarrassed that he'd come to Shelly when he was well aware she couldn't tell him what he wanted to know, Marshall said, "Right. Well, I guess that'll have to do for now. One more thing: What does she know about us?"

"I've never said anything to her inside or outside of therapy, so whatever she knows, she knows from you."

"It's not as though there's really anything for her to know, but she'd feel blindsided if she found out we'd had a few more dates than I told her about. Anyway, thanks, Shelly . . . for everything."

"You're welcome." Shelly knew he was thanking her for more than this conversation. His gratitude for whatever role she had played in keeping Mary around this long was evident.

Feeling still uncertain but lighter, Marshall strode down the long corridor and took the stairs down to the bottom floor two steps at a time. Shelly hadn't confirmed either Marshall's fear or his hopes, but she had definitely given him some reason for the latter. _"I'm asking her to do a lot of hard work." "There's a lot going on internally."_

Marshall took a slow, circuitous route back to the office, savoring the perfect weather and the thought that kept running through his head:

_Mary was working hard. _

_**In therapy.**_

_For them._

_For him._

....................................................

A couple of days later, Marshall simply couldn't take the internal turmoil anymore. He gathered his courage while they were having lunch on the roof terrace of their office.

"Sooo . . ." said Marshall, with an exaggerated air of casualness.

"Yeeesss?" Mary replied, mimicking his tone.

"So, remember that whole thing where you were going to quit the only job you've ever loved, or else I would die facedown in the dirt, and it would be your fault, and then I told you that you didn't have to quit, and then you started meeting with a shrink to try to figure it out? Do you remember that whole thing? Ring any bells up there in the Mary belfry?"

"Hmm, maybe."

"Because it's been almost, oh, let's see, a almost a month, I think, since you've mentioned anything about it. So I was, you know, just sort of wondering if you were still planning to ditch me. I mean, just out of curiosity."

"Right, like you haven't already written the want ad for your new partner: 'Partner needed for long hours, crappy pay, and mortal peril. Must be willing to tolerate endless stream of minutiae.'"

"You forgot 'Must be champion ass kicker,'" added Marshall. Then his tone turned serious. "So . . ."

"So, it's been okay. It turns out Shelly is pretty good at her job."

"Uh unh. Do you want to tell me what that means?" Marshall's heart was in his throat.

Mary stood and walked to the railing, gazing out over the city for a moment. Then she said, "It's . . . it's sort of like. . . alchemy."

"Really?" That was unexpected. "How so?"

Mary turned around to face Marshall and tried to explain. "It feels like she's—we've, I guess, made something . . . solid out of thin air. And all I've done is to keep telling her the damn story of that damn day over and over again."

"What's the 'something'?"

"I don't know how to describe it. Confidence, maybe? No, that's not really it. Faith? But tangible, like I can almost touch it. Which is really the opposite of faith. Hell, I don't know. What I do know is that the only thing—_the only __thing_—that matters more to me than having you as my partner is for you to be alive and . . . "

"Me too," interjected Marshall quietly.

". . . and I think I can do this. The fear is still there, but it's in perspective now. I think I understand how to set it off to the side when I need to."

Marshall needed to make absolutely sure that he understood. He walked over and stood next to Mary. "So you're staying?"

"I'm staying."

"Because you cannot quit." Marshall looked straight into Mary's eyes. Incredibly, she didn't look away as she answered him.

"I know."

There was a long beat and then, right on cue, Marshall launched into, "Did you know that alchemy, in addition to being a metallurgical pseudo science, is a philosophy held by . . . ."

Mary gave a genuine smile and settled in to hear Marshall's treatise on magic, inorganic chemistry, and the eternal quest to create something from nothing.


	5. Ch 11: Honeymoon

_**off kilter, chapter 11: honeymoon**_

**Author:** yankee306  
**Pairings: **Mary and Marshall, bien sûr

**Summary:** Half of Mary's life is back together; the other half is in shambles.

_**A/N:**_ greenstuff is Queen Beta!

................................................................................................................................

_**In our last chapter . . . **_

_Mary gave a genuine smile and settled in to hear Marshall's treatise on magic, inorganic chemistry, and the eternal quest to create something from nothing._

....................................................

**Chapter 11: Honeymoon **

Marshall and Mary's celebration of her decision to stay took place over a pile of greasy nachos (for her), a plate of potato skins (without bacon or sour cream, for him), and three beers apiece. They sat in a booth at the hole in the wall around the corner from the office, each of them turned sideways, back against the wall and legs stretched down the bench, feeling relaxed in each other's company for the first time in far too long.

After they hashed over developments with witnesses and reviewed Marshall's evidence for his claim of something developing between Eleanor and Stan (which Mary still wasn't buying), Marshall asked, "Now that we know you're staying, do you think you could stop acting so weird?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You've been tiptoeing around me, saying 'please' and 'thank you' all the time. It's discombobulating."

"I discombobulate you? I'm a discombobulater?"

"You have indeed been behaving in a discombobulatory fashion."

"All right then, let immediate recombobulation begin. Never again, Marshal Marshall Mann, shall 'please' or 'thank you' pass these lips."

"Hallelujah!," cried Marshall, lifting his glass toward her.

"Amen!" replied Mary, tapping her glass against his.

They both polished off their beers and grinned at each other like idiots until their waitress came by a few moments later.

"Anything else for you two?"

There was a quick exchange of glances before Mary answered, "No thanks," and handed over her credit card.

Marshall's eyebrows rose. "You're treating?"

"Don't get used to it, bucko."

....................................................

Over the next few days, as things between them settled back toward normal, Marshall reveled in the awareness that their partnership was not just intact but more solid than it had ever been. Knowing that Mary not only didn't bolt but actively worked to stay took his breath away.

Mary maintained her more generous attitude toward Marshall but dropped the weird formal quality that had crept into their interactions. She pushed him, he pushed back, and they both delighted in having a partner with whom they could be at their full strength.

Peace and harmony reigned on the 8th floor of the Sunshine Building.

....................................................

In the Shannon household, discord was in ascendancy.

"Brandi, turn down that goddamn TV!" Mary shouted for the third time. Lately, the TV seemed to be perpetually tuned to Univision or Telemundo, one of which always seemed to be airing that _stupid ad._ "Hit one out of the park!" urged Raph from the screen. Mary found the whole idea of being engaged to a car salesman embarrassing; being engaged to a car salesman who was also the star of a cheesy commercial with fawning cheerleaders was just, well, even more embarrassing.

Raph's excuse for both the sales job and the ad was the money that would allow him to help Mary with her mortgage and get them on the household budget he'd drawn up.

"I already told you: I don't need your goddamn help and screw your stupid budget!" Mary told Raph during their latest argument about it.

"Mary, don't be ridiculous. There are four people living in this house now. There have to be at least two of us actually contributing."

_Four people! How in christ's name did I come to be living in a house with four people! _"All right, fine, okay, but that doesn't mean we need decisions made by committee. I guess you can just write me a check each month, and then I'll take care of things. _You_ can keep Brandi in appletinis."

Raph was relieved that Mary was finally willing to be practical. "Sure. That will work until we're married and have a joint account."

"Whoa, there. Where'd you get that?"

Raph sighed. "That's what married people do, Mary. They live in the same house and have the same last name and the same bank account—"

"The same name!" barked Mary. "Now you've decided what my goddamn _name _is?"

"Well, no, I mean if you want to use Shannon-Ramirez instead of Ramirez, that would be fine, too, of course."

"Gee, _thanks, _Raph. Will I walk three paces behind you or only two?"

"Mary, I don't understand—"

Mary gave a bitter laugh. "No fucking kidding."

"Can we please talk—" began Raph, but Mary was already past him and halfway to the door, gun and badge in hand. She scooped up her keys and slammed shut the door with a bang.

"Christ almighty, that mother-humping . . . ," Mary muttered to herself as wrenched open the car door and climbed in. At the end of the driveway, she paused before pulling out into the street and looked back at her house._ Her_ house. She'd been single and free when she bought it but had never spent a night alone in it. Immediately, it had filled up, with first her mother, then her sister, then Raph.

At least there was one place that still was hers, she thought, as she headed to the office.

....................................................

Marshall's agenda for the day included a visit to one of his witnesses, Toni Bates. Mary informed him that she would be joining him, something she'd been doing a lot lately.

"Not that I don't enjoy your company, Mare, but what's up with all these ride alongs lately? This isn't the overprotective thing again, is it?"

"Why—is it discombobulating you?" she teased.

"No, just wondering," replied Marshall, mildly.

"I'm just trying something new."

Marshall cocked one eyebrow at her.

"Well, _it just so happens_ I've been thinking about our partnership lately and it _could_ be that I thought _maybe_ I could be a _little_ more helpful with your witnesses sometimes."

"Oh, really?" asked Marshall with a lopsided grin.

"Really. Wipe that smug look off your face and let's go."

....................................................

Toni Bates (formerly Badeaux) had been spared the worst effects of Hurricane Katrina, only to find herself tossed about in a different kind of storm. Born and raised in New Orleans, Toni had heard enough stories and seen enough destructive hurricanes firsthand that she started getting ready as soon as Katrina turned toward the Gulf Coast. She packed up her two cats, her important papers, and a few days' necessities and found a ride to Baton Rogue with a friend. Before evacuating, she urged her friends and neighbors to get out of the city or at least get to a shelter on higher ground. Toni was lucky. When she was allowed to return after a week, she found her neighborhood damaged but habitable and her house, which had been home to four generations of her family, flooded only to the first floor. The second floor was untouched. The precious family photos, her late mother's wedding dress, and a handful of other family treasures were safely packed away in the attic. She and her neighbors formed cleaning brigades, helping to shovel mud and debris out of one another's houses, then scrubbing and sanitizing floors, walls, and whatever furniture could be salvaged.

The small hardware store Toni had managed wouldn't be able to reopen for months, if at all, but, in another stroke of luck, she was able to find a job as an office manager with a demolition company that had received a government contract to raze buildings too damaged to remain standing. That's when Toni's luck ran out.

When she realized that the company was ripping off the federal reconstruction funds, she'd reported it to the Federal Emergency Management Agency without hesitation, despite the scarcity of jobs. When FEMA, overwhelmed and incompetently managed by a political hack, didn't respond quickly, she went directly to the FBI. Nobody was going to steal from her beloved and now broken city. Even if she'd known that her bosses were old-fashioned gangsters whose record of silencing witnesses would drive her from the only place she'd ever lived, she would have done it.

Before she left for Albuquerque, Toni asked that the pieces of family history that she'd painstakingly cared for since the others had moved away be shipped to her sister in Cleveland, along with a letter delivering the terrible news that they'd never see one another again. Toni asked Annabelle to share the news with their sister Serenity in Richmond, their brother Paul, stationed in Iraq, and their network of aunts, uncles, and dozens of cousins.

....................................................

Mary and Marshall pulled up in front of a neat, one-story house with a red tile roof and a yard full of desert zinnias and primroses. Toni was sitting in a rocking chair on her front porch, engrossed in a novel.

"Morning, Toni!" Marshall called to her as he climbed out of the truck.

Toni looked up and broke into a broad smile. "Hey, cher!"

Mary trailed Marshall up the front steps as Toni stood up to hug Marshall. Despite having seen Mary only a few times since she and Marshall had escorted her to Albuquerque, Toni greeted her just as warmly.

"Mary, I swear you're prettier than ever."

"Ah, you're sweet, Toni. Thanks."

"You two make yourselves comfortable and I'll get us some iced tea," said Toni, stepping inside.

She returned a few minutes later with the tea and a plate of sweets. She held the plate out to Mary, saying, "Here, cher, have a praline."

Mary looked quizzically at the proffered treats. "I wouldn't know a praline if it bit me in the ass, but what the hell." Mary took a bite of the lumpy confection. "Holy crap, that is fantastic."

"Pecans, brown sugar, and cream. What's not to love?" said Marshall, happily sampling one himself. "Toni's family recipe is one of the best."

"You made these?" Mary asked Toni, impressed.

"I've got to, cher. Can't get anything close to a real praline around here."

The conversation turned to other New Orleans specialties, then somehow segued onto classic movies and bungled remakes.

Back at the office, Marshall had advised Mary that this might be a long visit. "What's the problem?"

"There's no problem. It's the anniversary of the day Katrina hit. I go by every year to keep Toni company since none of her new friends know she's from New Orleans. I usually hang out for a few hours."

"You've been doing this for four years?" Mary marveled at yet another thing she hadn't known about her partner.

He nodded.

"But don't say anything about Katrina unless Toni brings it up," he cautioned her. "She can't stand to talk about it much. I let her decide if she wants to."

So instead of addressing the real reason for the visit, the three of them whiled away a couple of hours with more meandering conversation and more tea until Toni announced, "Well, I'm sure you two have other places to be and I've got to get some cooking done for a picnic after church tomorrow. So you'd be best be going. But how about you two come by for supper on Friday night?"

Mary looked at Marshall, who said, "You're gonna want to take her up on that, Mare. Those pralines are the very least of Toni's talents."

With that endorsement, Mary accepted the invitation happily. "All right. Friday, then."

.........................................

Mary left the office sometime past 8 o'clock, hoping that Raph would just leave that morning's argument alone. When she got home, he seemed just as eager as she was to avoid it and chattered to her about a co-worker's going away party. Not long after that, Mary asked Raph to start undressing.

The rest of the week passed in much the same way. Raph, Brandi, or Jinx would do something to drive Mary crazy from the moment she awoke, she'd escape to work and to Marshall, and then she'd get home too late for much other than sex with Raph and a solid eight hours' sleep before the next drama du jour. _Good god, when did this become my life? Something has _got_ to change._

**I know there have been long lapses between the chapters. I'm trying to speed them up, but reviews are the best motivator!**


	6. Ch 12: Alligator Tale

**A/N:** It's taken me quite a while to wrestle this next chapter into shape, but the next few chapters should come more quickly. Should. A big shout out to sfchemist for helping me get this far.

I'm basing my claim of Marshall's having been a marshal for 14 years on the assumption that he joined the marshals service within a year of graduating from college -- at 22 -- and is now 36, a couple of years younger than Mary. (fweller is 43, despite his looking several years younger.) So, 14 years.

.........................................

Perhaps "I have to work" wasn't an _entirely_ honest excuse for not spending Friday night with Raph, but it depended on how narrowly you defined "have to" and "work." Mary didn't absolutely _have to _know Marshall's witnesses better, but she should. And it was helpful to their _work _relationship to show Marshall this _professional _attention. If it also happened to give her a night away from arguing with Raph about joint checking accounts, so much the better.

.........................................

As promised, Toni was a wonderful cook. When Mary complimented the dinner for the third or fourth time, Marshall chimed in with, "You should try Toni's beignets. Light as feathers. And don't get me started on her etouffee."

"Exactly how often do you feed him?" Mary asked Toni.

"Oh, only now and again, but I guess it's added up over the years," answered Toni.

_The sort "other thing" that takes up Marshall's time, _Mary noted to herself.

"I suppose I've made most of my specialties for him by now, at least until I find somewhere to get alligator sausage," Toni continued. "Oh, Mary, Marshall told me the most interesting thing about alligators."

"I'll just bet he did," answered Mary, throwing a little smirk in Marshall's direction.

"Guess how long they can go without eating?" quizzed Toni.

"I don't know...a week? A month?"

"Two or three _years!_ Doesn't that just beat all?"

Marshall explained briefly, "They store fat in their tails for the winter and then live off the fatty deposits. If they have to, they can make it last."

"Isn't it wonderful, all the things he knows?" asked Toni rhetorically.

"'That's one word for it," said Mary, but with a friendly laugh that took any edge off.

Between dinner and coffee, and over Toni's protests, Mary and Marshall did the dishes. They stood side-by-side at the sink in companionable silence, Mary washing and rinsing, Marshall drying and putting away.

Then there was coffee and rum cake, after which Mary reluctantly excused herself and headed home. Marshall lingered to clear away the last of the dishes and wrap up the slices of cake that Toni pressed on him.

As she walked Marshall to the door, Toni asked, "I know it's none of my business, Marshall, but have you ever thought about you and Mary dating? I never understand how it is that you're still single, and the two of you seem so easy together."

Marshall smiled, touched by Toni's concern for him. "We've been partners for almost four years. You get close. But a romantic relationship isn't a possibility."

"She's very attractive," observed Toni.

"That she is," agreed Marshall. "She's also engaged."

"Is she really? She didn't mention her fiancé and there's no ring."

"She doesn't always wear the ring. It, uh, gets in her way." Marshall stumbled a bit since he really didn't know why Mary wasn't wearing her ring now that she'd confessed her engagement to him. Although Lord knows it could only be a bother when she had to shoot with both hands or wrestle a suspect into handcuffs. He wondered if Raph knew she didn't wear it.

"Well, he must be some kind of man if he isn't bothered by the dangerous work she does or the amount of time you two spend together. I think lots of men would find that threatening."

Marshall nodded, but didn't seem inclined to say anything more, so Toni decided to let the matter drop. "All right, I'll stop sticking my nose in where it doesn't belong. I just can't help wanting you to find someone who deserves a sweet man like you, cher."

.........................................

Marshall left Toni's happily sated but unsettled. Now that he once again felt sure of Mary as his partner, it had freed him—or maybe consigned him—to think more about the rest of their relationship. He was trying very, very hard to reconcile himself to her engagement. Being asked why he and Mary weren't more to each other didn't help.

From the moment he met Mary, he wasn't insensible to her pull. He doubted many straight men (or lesbians, for that matter) were. She was beautiful, of course, but more important, she was passionate, fierce, funny. She was _vital_—somehow more alive than anyone he'd known. She made him feel more alive, too.

On her first day in the Albuquerque WITSEC office, Mary ignored Marshall as much as possible and occupied herself by reading case files of witnesses she'd be responsible for. For the rest of the week, and over her loud protests that she didn't need to be led around by the hand, she followed Stan's directive and accompanied Marshall to the courthouse and to visit his witnesses. Marshall saw firsthand her impatience and bossiness when she barged into almost every interaction with other marshals, his witnesses, and anyone else he talked to. "Observing" didn't seem to be in Mary's vocabulary. He also saw her uncommon compassion and kindness, something he'd see repeated over and over again with those witnesses who had earned it, or who deserved it from the beginning based simply on their wretched state. She extended it to many who likely didn't deserve it at all.

He'd had his share of partners in the 14 years he'd been a marshal. Nick, smart and experienced, had shown Marshall the ropes before he retired a year later. Allison was his partner for only seven months before she relocated. After that, he'd been paired with another Nick, Nick2 as Marshall thought of him, until he washed out and became Nick the Not in Marshall's mind.

When he'd been recruited into WITSEC and transferred to Albuquerque, Marshall began his five-year partnership with Joaquin. They'd worked very well together, though mostly separately except when protocols demanded two marshals for transport or courthouse security. Their relationship was friendly, but Marshall never thought of Joaquin as a friend. Maybe once a month or so, Marshall had dinner with Joaquin and his wife. That was the extent of their contact outside of work.

Joaquin was gravely injured in a raid on an arms-smuggling operation. He recovered, but when his first child was born not long afterward, he acceded to his wife's pleas and transferred out of law enforcement entirely.

By that time, Marshall was so well respected within WITSEC that he was assigned to train inspectors new to the program and thus had run through 5 partners in 3 years, training and evaluating them before they were deemed ready to settle into permanent positions elsewhere.

Mary was something altogether different. After two tumultuous years as a marshal, one in WITSEC, she'd been paired with Marshall as a last resort. The higher-ups decided that if she couldn't work with Marshall, who got along with everybody and invariably made them better at their jobs, then she was out.

She came to Albuquerque prickly and defensive. The chip on her shoulder could have been chiseled from the Grand Canyon, but she was damn good. Once she realized that Marshall had no plans to patronize her or control her or bed her, they'd become an excellent team, inseparable as partners and eventually as friends. When the brass had tried to move Mary so Marshall could continue in his role as trainer, they didn't even bother to formulate an argument about why they should remain paired; they simply refused to do anything else.

Marshall pushed his attraction to Mary aside early on, knowing it was a recipe for disaster. That lasted for some time, up until he realized he was falling in love with her, perhaps a year and a half into their partnership. At first he figured it was a renewal of his initial infatuation with her, but finally had to admit to himself that it was much more. He wanted all of Mary, body and soul. He became distracted, unable to resist gazing at her surreptitiously when her attention was focused elsewhere or she slept in the car or in a shared hotel room.

He shook himself out of the near-constant desire he felt when he was anywhere near her, knowing he was endangering their partnership, and managed to sublimate it most of the time. He was helped in this by the fact that she apparently had no interest in him. He knew enough about her one- and two-night stands to know that she wouldn't have hesitated if she wanted him. He had learned to be content with what Mary was willing to give him while other men got to enjoy Mary's lips, her hands, her curves....

Recently, it had gotten much harder. It seemed to date from when he realized that Raphael was turning into a two-month, then six-month, then 2-year long stand for Mary. And now she was _engaged_ to him. The flickering hopes that Marshall had nursed guttered and died.

So he really didn't need Toni, kindly intended as she was, to suggest that he consider a romance with Mary.

.........................................

Mary arrived home from the dinner after eleven, feeling happy and full. When she saw that the light in her bedroom was on, she felt a twinge of dread, followed immediately by much stronger pangs of guilt. _I'm going to marry him. You think I'd be happy to see him at the end of the day._

Mary hung up her keys and her jacket and then stepped determinedly toward her bedroom, resisting the urge to pour a drink or turn on the TV. Raph heard her and called out, "Mary? Is that you?"

_No, numbnuts, it's the Fuller Brush Man. Who'd you think? _"It's me. You're still up," said Mary, pushing open the door.

Raph yawned sleepily. "Just barely. How was work?"

"Fine."

"What did you have to do tonight? Did you—"

_Seriously? He's asking me this again? _"Don't ask, Raph."

"No, I meant—I just wanted to ask if you had a chance to get dinner. Sometimes you get too busy to eat."

Mary shot an apologetic look Raph's way. "Oh. I ate, thanks," she told him. _Jesus, Mary, cut him some slack. He thinks that you were out facing death instead of enjoying a home cooked meal. I guess I could have told him that tonight was just a work dinner, but then he'd think he always gets to know what I'm doing when I'm out late._

"How was your day?" she asked, by way of peace offering.

"It was really good. We had three customers who said they came in just because they had seen the ad, and one of them bought a car from me."

Mary groaned inwardly but tried not to react to Raph's mention of the ad.

"That's great, Raph."

"Look, I know you don't like that I did the ad, but it's been good for the business."

"Really, Raph, I'm glad for you," said Mary. "I'm gonna go take a shower."

"Okay," said Raph, disappointed that she seemed eager to end their conversation.

Mary closed the bathroom door behind her, sighing. _Dammit, I'd like to wring the neck of the punk actor who flaked out and made Raph—and me—look like a fool._

As she stood under the warm spray of the shower, Mary's mind continued to churn. Why did it seem lately that whenever she was with Raph they were either arguing or carefully stepping around each other to avoid arguing? For the thousandth time, she wondered to herself why all of this had to be so damn _hard._ _It'll get easier, _she tried to assure herself. After all, they were living in an overcrowded house with her dysfunctional family; Raph was feeling at sea after retiring from baseball; she was adjusting to having him around all the time; and he was still adjusting to the bombshell she'd dropped about her work.

_Really, though, it seems there's just been more conflict than peace ever since our relationship turned serious. _What if it's not just the situation that's causing the problems, Mary wondered. What if it had more to do with the relationship itself?

_No, I don't believe that. It's the __**change**__ that I'm having trouble getting used to. I just need to get my head screwed on straight about Raph, like I have about Marshall. _Mary couldn't believe she was even considering it, but she wondered whether Shelly could help with this, too.

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**Reviews much appreciated!**


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